Dead Man’s Folly is one of Agatha Christie’s jolliest stories, evidently one she had fun writing. It is set in a country fête held in the grounds of aDead Man’s Folly is one of Agatha Christie’s jolliest stories, evidently one she had fun writing. It is set in a country fête held in the grounds of a large country house, so the cast of characters includes the whole span of village life from “Sir George”, through foreign hikers from the next-door hostel, to the locals being obligingly colourful. “Du ee want the ferry, sir?” There is, fortunately, a list of characters at the front of the book in case you get lost.

Christie fans will spot many of the characters and plot points from previous stories, almost to excess. It looks as though she is spoofing her own books and even herself. Ariadne Oliver, befuddled mystery storywriter and Agatha Christie alter ego, is at her most eccentric. In addition, late in the book, an anonymous old woman makes a brief appearance. Surely, Christie has taken a walk-on part in her own novel after Poirot asks if anybody solved the fête murder hunt.

“But, they did,” said Mrs Oliver. "Quite late, about seven o’clock. A very dogged old lady supposed to be quite gaga. She got through all the clues and arrived at the boathouse triumphantly, but of course the police were there. So then she heard about the murder, and she was the last person at the whole Fête to hear about it, I should imagine! Anyway, they gave her the prize.”

My favourite Ngaio Marsh story is the one that does not involve the theatre or New Zealand. Death of a Fool is set in a snowy English village holdingMy favourite Ngaio Marsh story is the one that does not involve the theatre or New Zealand. Death of a Fool is set in a snowy English village holding out against the 20th century. It could easily be silly, but Ngaio Marsh is far too good a writer to slip into that error.

The story has a village smithy, a mediæval folk dance, eccentric gentry, a village natural, and an artsy German folklorist doing a wonderful imitation of the modern obsession with ethnicity. I am in awe of a New Zealander who could have written a classic murder mystery in such a setting and absolutely pulled it off. ...more

The Skull Beneath the Skin looks back to the days when readers expected large dollops of philosophy and literary references along with their stories.The Skull Beneath the Skin looks back to the days when readers expected large dollops of philosophy and literary references along with their stories. This P D James novel contains references to John Webster’sThe Duchess of Malfi (the play within a play), Nietzsche, Donne, Shakespeare, William Morris, the Bible, the Book of Mormon, E M Forster, Malory, Voltaire, Austen and Rattigan amongst others.

Bosola: Other sins only speak; murder shrieks out.The element of water moistens the earth,But blood flies upwards and bedews the heavens.-- The Duchess of Malfi, John Webster 1613

It could be pretentious, but P D James is correct that many of us enjoy the endless game of tag with literary quotations. It was a direct reference to Webster’sThe Duchess of Malfi in Agatha Christie’sSleeping Murder: Miss Marple’s Last Case that led to me to read Webster in the first place. All praise Dame Agatha and Baroness James.

Although there is a cracking good murder mystery at the heart of The Skull Beneath the Skin, the book is slightly spoiled by the unsatisfactory device of inserting Girl Detective, Cordelia Gray, solely for the purpose of providing a character to whom the others can tell their innermost thoughts. She does come into her own later, but that does not redeem her "hot tears coursing down her face" earlier on.

Webster was much possessed by deathAnd saw the skull beneath the skin;And breastless creatures under groundLeaned backward with a lipless grin.-- Whispers of Immortality, T S Eliot 1920

Vintage Murder is one of four Ngaio Marsh murder mysteries set in New Zealand, although there is little to show that. A Maori doctor and a couple of lVintage Murder is one of four Ngaio Marsh murder mysteries set in New Zealand, although there is little to show that. A Maori doctor and a couple of local policemen have walk-on parts, and there is a very nice account of a picnic trip Commander Dalgliesh takes into the countryside as part of his holiday. Other than that, the characters are all members of an English acting company touring New Zealand. The story might as well be set in Bournemouth.

The pleasure in this story is Ngaio Marsh’s description of the actors and their lives as members of a theatrical troupe. She should know; she was an actor and accomplished director herself, and the strains of making a profit in a small repertory company (even then), the tensions between artistic temperaments, and the mechanics of handling props and flats on stage all ring true.

Oh, and since I may not be the only idiot who used to pronounce the ‘g’ in her name, Dame Edith Ngaio Marsh DBE said her name as “Nio” to rhyme with “bio”, not as in “ngaio tree”. ...more

The Silent World of Nicholas Quinn is the third of thirteen Chief Inspector Morse detective mysteries by Colin Dexter. It is a story to read in a singThe Silent World of Nicholas Quinn is the third of thirteen Chief Inspector Morse detective mysteries by Colin Dexter. It is a story to read in a single sitting, because the plotting gets into quite a tangle. If I put it down, I forget who claimed to be where with whom. I have a picture of the author with sticky notes all over his office trying to remember what each character had said and where they were supposed to be.

I have enjoyed every one of Colin Dexter’s novels. He never assumes his readers are stupid. Still, the basic premise of a victim who relies on lip-reading would be more interesting if he had not died at the start of the book. Never kill off your most interesting character with so many chapters to go....more

I bought The Lighthouse twice: once when it first came out five years ago and again the other day. From the blurb on the dust jacket and a quick flickI bought The Lighthouse twice: once when it first came out five years ago and again the other day. From the blurb on the dust jacket and a quick flick though the book, I did not recognize the story and thought it must be a new P D James novel. That tells you that the story is not particularly memorable and that professional reviewers do not always read the books they review.

In many ways, The Lighthouse is a reworking of James’The Skull beneath the Skin: an annoying artist or writer delights in provoking everybody around him or her, and sets up tensions that can only end in one way. There is the same privately owned English island, a German whose father died in the war, and a genteel set of guests generally despised by their loyal employees. The similarities in the plot end there.

As always addressing contemporary concerns, in The LighthouseP D James builds the story around the continual stress many professionals are under. If it is not their marriage or partnership breaking up, it is a stumbling career or public intrusion into their private lives. Where are all these things likely to come to the boil? Obviously, it is at a retreat for overstressed professional and public figures. The downside to this topic is that it is a rather bleak subject, especially for us over-stressed professionals looking for escape. You can sympathise with the characters when they view the murder of one of them with “shock and horror, but also with excitement”, somebody else’s problem to resolve.

I have only a couple of bones to pick with a book I enjoyed both times. The usual excellent prose contains more groceries and clothes than I care about: lists of the contents of people’s pantries, refrigerators and meals, the nurse’s trousers and the boatman’s jeans and dark blue Guernsey pullover. Now if he had been wearing pink cashmere, I would have seen the point of this detail.

There is also the problem of sex. Sex is obligatory in a novel, but in P D James’ books, one has the impression that it is both the author and the characters who heave an audible sigh of relief when the telephone rings at the critical moment and somebody can say, “It’s a case” and begin their “quick and methodical packing”. On the other hand, at least the book does not leave me with a sense of inferiority that every relationship consists of consummated hot passion. These are more realistic characters than one meets in most fiction.

“After all, you got a degree in English, didn’t you?”

Again that small prick of resentment from which she was never entirely free.

He said calmly, “It’s from Auden’s poem,’ September 1, 1939.’ I and the public know What all schoolchildren learn, Those to whom evil is done Do evil in return.” – The Lighthouse, P D James 2005

The Pyramid was a disappointment for a long-standing fan of the fictional Swedish detective. I am used to Henning Mankell’s writing being rather uneveThe Pyramid was a disappointment for a long-standing fan of the fictional Swedish detective. I am used to Henning Mankell’s writing being rather uneven, but the Detective Wallander stories set in Sweden have been reliable until now. I simply lose him when he moves the setting to Africa.

The book is apparently a collection of bits and bobs lying around on the writer’s desk – and, in fact, he pretty much says that in the foreword. The problem is that no one piece scores as a standalone short story or as a coherent novel, although the main story runs to about 160 pages in my paperback copy....more

I went on a hunt for works by Edmund Crispin after coming across the better-known Moving Toyshop. Buried for Pleasure is part of the same series starrI went on a hunt for works by Edmund Crispin after coming across the better-known Moving Toyshop. Buried for Pleasure is part of the same series starring the eccentric Gervase Fen, professor of English at Oxford and amateur sleuth. The book satisfies any died-in-the-wool fan of the golden age of mysteries, but does not leap off the page except for a single speech given by Fen near the end of his disastrous attempt at becoming the local M.P. for a rural constituency.

Fen, no doubt speaking for Crispin and the rest of us, gives a rousing denunciation of the entire political system (his politics are mildly conservative, but mostly undefined). The book is worth reading for that speech alone in chapter 19.

It is often asserted that the English are unique among the nations for their good sense in political matters. In actual fact, however, the English have no more political sense than so many polar bears.

Then he really says what he thinks. This is wonderful stuff, but there is not enough of it for the book to be excellent....more

Hickory Dickey Dock is a late Agatha Christie novel, entertaining but rather formulaic. Hercule Poirot investigates a student hostel where a series ofHickory Dickey Dock is a late Agatha Christie novel, entertaining but rather formulaic. Hercule Poirot investigates a student hostel where a series of petty thefts and acts of vandalism are the clues to solving a more serious crime. On the way, Poirot pokes fun at the psychobabble theory of crime and presents a couple of nice cameos of young, single women and their concerns back then.

The plot is reasonable and gets off to a strong start. It has good potential with a mixed bag of foreign students under the care of Miss Lemon’s sister, but it feels as though the writer lost interest halfway through. Even in the 1950’s, abandoned items turned up more often at the municipal tip than the Lost-and-Found Office. Two Turkish students appear on stage and then disappear from the action without having said a word. I am sceptical that Christie really meant West African Vodun rather than West Indian Voodoo. The French students say nothing interesting in French that they could not as easily have said in English. The reference in the title to mice and clocks is never used. The list goes on; it all sounds like a bad case of late deadline to me.

If you are in desperate need of a Christie fix, this one works, but it is not one of her top ten....more

N or M? reminded me of the spy stories I used to read in comic books as a child. An ordinary middle-aged couple (Tommy and Tuppence) uncover German spN or M? reminded me of the spy stories I used to read in comic books as a child. An ordinary middle-aged couple (Tommy and Tuppence) uncover German spies in a South Coast boarding house and everybody is terribly decent. It is easy to sneer now, but Agatha Christie wrote N or M? in 1940 at the start of the Blitzkrieg against London and before the horrors of the death camps were known in England.

I imagine this kind of story was comforting to a frightened population. There are no ace pilots, no James Bond superspies, no Brideshead’s revisited, no virile heroes with a babe in every hotel-room. The feeling of being transported back in time was uncanny, and I developed a good deal of respect for these characters, who soldiered on in the best sense.

The Book of Common Prayer – 1559 - A CATECHISM – THAT IS TO SAY, AN INSTRUCTION TO BE LEARNED OF EVERY CHILDE BEFORE HE BE BROUGHT TO BE CONFIRMED OF THE BISHOPPE

Question. What is your name?Aunswere. N. or M.Question. Who gave you this name?Aunswere. My Godfathers and Godmothers in my Baptisme, wherein I was made a membre of Christe, the childe of God, and an inheritour of the kingdome of heaven.

There is something very appealing about murder mysteries set in remote English villages under heavy snow. It is more than the Christmas card prettinesThere is something very appealing about murder mysteries set in remote English villages under heavy snow. It is more than the Christmas card prettiness and the excuse for roaring fires. There is an expectation that something interesting will happen, like the murder of a rich old Scrooge.

The Sittaford Mystery is an absolute Agatha Christie classic. It has an interesting mix of characters, young and old, plenty of red herrings, and a clever riddle at its heart. The surprising item here is the young woman who acts as amateur detective. That can be a difficult character in fiction. Make her too clever and she breaks social expectations of feminine behaviour; make her too stupid and she is unbelievable. Christie’s solution of having her a brilliant and deliberate manipulator works very well.

“You don’t think they are—well—hiding?”

Major Burnaby shook his head positively.

“Oh! no, nothing of that kind. They’re very sociable—a bit too sociable. I mean, in a little place like Sittaford, you can’t have previous engagements, and when invitations are showered on you it’s a bit awkward. They’re exceedingly kind, hospitable people, but a bit too hospitable for English ideas.”

The Bittermeads Mystery is a golden age murder mystery, published in 1922 but reading more like an early Edwardian novel. There is the usual convoluteThe Bittermeads Mystery is a golden age murder mystery, published in 1922 but reading more like an early Edwardian novel. There is the usual convoluted plot, manly man heroes, gentle beauties, and plenty of cold grey eyes. There are moments when the story is in danger of sinking below the weight of heavy-handed clues, but never to the point of being boring.

But there was that burning in Rupert's heart that made him heedless of all danger, and indeed, he who for mere love of sport and adventure, had followed a wounded tiger into the jungle and tracked a buffalo through thick reeds, was not likely to draw back now. –The Bittermeads Mystery, E R Punshon (1922)”

The writing is not all as bad as that, but you get the idea: great fun in a Boy’s Own Paper style.

I know very little about the author. Apparently, Ernest Robertson Punshon was a prolific writer of this kind of story, born in 1872, who also wrote under the name of H Robertson Halkett. ...more

In Strong Poison, Lord Peter Wimsey must clear Harriet Vane, a detective storywriter, of the charge of killing her live-in boyfriend. On the way to thIn Strong Poison, Lord Peter Wimsey must clear Harriet Vane, a detective storywriter, of the charge of killing her live-in boyfriend. On the way to that goal, we see an amazing cross-section of British society in the 1920’s – including some people who never appear in textbooks or other novels.

“Bah!” said a voice in Wimsey’s ear, as the cadaverous man turned away, “it is nothing. Bourgeois music. Programme music. Pretty!—You should hear Vrilovitch’s ‘Ecstasy on the letter ‘Z’.”

While Wimsey interviews a dry little middle-class solicitor, his ‘man’, Bunter, visits the staff below stairs. By World War II, solicitors could no longer afford servants, and former servants went to work in factories and offices. There is a hint of this future in the mysterious typing agency that Wimsey often uses.

All the employees were women—mostly elderly, but a few still young and attractive—and if the private register in the steel safe had been consulted, it would have been seen that all these women were of the class unkindly known as “superfluous”.

This is why I enjoy reading Dorothy Sayer’s books. Not only do you get a terrific murder mystery in the best amateur-sleuth style, you see a world omitted from the literature.

The title of Strong Poison comes from a folk ballad usually known as Lord Randall.

'What did you have for your breakfast, my own pretty boy?What did you have for your breakfast, my comfort and joy?''A cup of strong poison; mother, make my bed soon, There's a pain in my heart, and I mean to lie down.'

The theme in Voices (Röddin ) by Arnaldur Indriðason is how traumatic events in childhood play out through adult life. Other writers have worked thatThe theme in Voices (Röddin ) by Arnaldur Indriðason is how traumatic events in childhood play out through adult life. Other writers have worked that vein before, but possibly with not quite such dramatic childhood events or such dramatic results. A murder mystery is the perfect genre for this material, because it lets our detectives force characters to talk without any of those phony self-revelations required by literary novels.

There is a certain lack of subtlety in how the parallel threads hold together. The loss of a brother in a blizzard, the loss of a father to divorce, physical abuse, not being the favourite on the one hand and pushy stage parents on the other take their turns like exhibits in a court case. Still, Indriðason makes his case powerfully and this will not be an easy book to forget.

There was a girl like that at my school. Her name was Vala Dögg. She was really hyped. Sang Christmas carols. A pretty little blonde girl. She was bullied, so she left school and got a job. I met her a lot when I was doing dope and she’d turned into a total creep. Worse than me. Burned-out and forgotten. She told me it was the worst thing that ever happened to her. -- Röddin , Arnaldur Indriðason (2003)

Agatha Christie once claimed that she could not even remember writing The Murder at the Vicarage. I doubt that, but I can see that Dame Agatha would hAgatha Christie once claimed that she could not even remember writing The Murder at the Vicarage. I doubt that, but I can see that Dame Agatha would have liked to forget this novel. Miss Marple is portrayed as an unpopular busybody, the dialog is stilted, and the murderer’s main aim is to leave as many clues as possible for the reader and Miss Marple, even if that requires all the other characters to be clownishly obtuse.

The story succeeds despite its rough edges. The gently innocent vicar is an appealing narrator, maybe more so because he is not also the sleuth, like Chesterton’s Father Brown. In fact, the novel is full of characters who persist in being themselves, despite social pressure to be otherwise. The vicar’s buoyant wife, Griselda, is irreverent and a hopeless housekeeper; Miss Cram is cheerfully working class and will doubtless eventually get her rich, old man; and elderly Miss Marple always has the last word however much this annoys everybody.

The Case of the Gilded Fly is the first of the murder mysteries written byEdmund Crispin (pseudonym of R Bruce Montgomery). That helps explain some ofThe Case of the Gilded Fly is the first of the murder mysteries written byEdmund Crispin (pseudonym of R Bruce Montgomery). That helps explain some of the wobbly writing, although all the pieces that went to create The Moving Toyshop and Holy Disorders are already in place.

“Tell me,” he said, “your opinions on the ethics of murder.”

Nicholas looked at him in silence for a moment. “I believe killing to be an inescapable necessity of the world in which we live, the abominable, sentimental, mob-ruled world of cheap newspapers and cheaper minds, where every imbecile is articulate and every folly tolerated, where the arts are dying out and the intellect scorned, where every little cheap-jack knows what he likes and what he thinks.”

Fen nodded. “Quite the little fascist,” he said.

The Case of the Gilded Fly was, after all, published in 1944, while World War II was in full fight.

The amateur detective is an eccentric Oxford professor prone to “tediously” quoting works of classical literature. The mystery is a locked-room murder that puzzles the police, enabling Fen to dazzle everybody. The secondary characters are all part of the arts crowd, in this case mostly the members of a repertory company.

The “straight man” to Fen’s irritable comments is a visiting reporter, unfortunately not a well-enough developed character to allow Fen to shine. Crispin did better in later books, using a similarly hapless poet and a composer of organ music. They were more even sparring partners.

The story is one of those intricate plots relying on careful timing for a large cast of characters with irritatingly similar names. There is a Jane and a Jean, a Nigel and a Nicholas. The false leads and obvious clues can be a little heavy-handed, but if you can forgive these fumblings of a new writer, the rest is light-hearted escapist fun with a core of something more thoughtful.

LEAR. I pardon that man’s life. What was thy cause? Adultery? Thou shalt not die: die for adultery? No. The wren goes to’t and the small gilded fly Does lecher in my sight. Let copulation thrive.

--The Tragedy of King Lear (4.5), William Shakespeare (circa 1605) Royal Shakespeare Company 2007 edition

There is a touch of the theatre of the absurd in A Murder is Announced. I can often hear Agatha Christie laughing as she writes, but this story is almThere is a touch of the theatre of the absurd in A Murder is Announced. I can often hear Agatha Christie laughing as she writes, but this story is almost like a drawing room farce with characters popping in and out of rooms. I enjoyed it immensely.

There are a couple of interesting female-female pairs in A Murder is Announced, presumably in part because this 1950 publication was written at a time when two generations of males had been decimated by war. There are several references to the various problems of living in the post-war years: severe rationing of coal and food, bartering between neighbours and people trying to raise money by selling off personal goods including clothes and false teeth. As always with Agatha Christie, you get more than a simple riddle, you get some very subtle social commentary.

People with a grudge against the world are always dangerous. They seem to think life owes them something. -- A Murder is Announced, Agatha Cgristie (1950)

Silence of the Grave (Grafarþögn) is a standard Nordic mystery with a focus on drug addicts and domestic abuse. Murder is just a side effect of all thSilence of the Grave (Grafarþögn) is a standard Nordic mystery with a focus on drug addicts and domestic abuse. Murder is just a side effect of all these social ills. The inevitably dour detective, distracted by his equally inevitable family problems, untangles a long skein of abuse leading from the lonely Reykjavík grave of a murder victim.

In other words, this is not suitable reading for a dreary November day when everything has gone wrong, but it does address issues that need to be talked about. The difficulty, I found, was that the harrowing scenes sounded like newspaper reportage; I never felt the author was giving me his special insights into these situations.

I am always on the lookout for a new murder mystery writer and Arnaldur Indriðason came recommended by Henning Mankell, which is high praise. However, Indriðason’s writing was a disappointment. He uses an extremely simple vocabulary and syntax in short sentences. I estimated the Flesch-Kincaid grade level at about five, in other words suitable for 11-12 year olds.

Erlendur saw the little boy standing in the doorway. He was holding a doll in one hand and in the other he had an empty feeding bottle which he held out towards Erlendur. Then he put the bottle in his mouth and Erlendur heard him sucking in the air. He watched the boy and gnashed his teeth before taking out his mobile to call for help.

"Watched the boy and gnashed his teeth . . ." I picked the sample above as being typical of the book. Without having seen the original Icelandic, I cannot be sure how much this is bad writing and how much a bad translation. My guess is that both play their part. Maybe I will try one later Indriðason to see if the writing improves before I give up on him. It would be a pity, because the narrative is good. ...more

Love Lies Bleeding was a little bit of a disappointment for an Edmund Crispin book. It follows the same pattern as The Moving Toyshop and Holy DisordeLove Lies Bleeding was a little bit of a disappointment for an Edmund Crispin book. It follows the same pattern as The Moving Toyshop and Holy Disorders, but Professor Fen is missing a hapless poet or composer to act as straight man. As a result, the humour falls a little flat.

The action takes place at a boys’ boarding school, which provides some in-jokes about parent-teacher-student relationships. Still, the underlying plot is a little weak, there are more bodies than in a Shakespeare tragedy, and too many characters have too few lines to be interesting.

Don’t let me put you off. I have high expectations for anything by Edmund Crispin and he does get in some nice jabs at parents. No doubt he was saving up some of these digs from his days as a master at Shrewsbury School, which bears an uncanny resemblance to the fictional school in the story. ...more

The Way Through the Woods is a classic Inspector Morse murder mystery. We have Morse’s drinking problems, his overt and inevitably doomed attempts atThe Way Through the Woods is a classic Inspector Morse murder mystery. We have Morse’s drinking problems, his overt and inevitably doomed attempts at wooing the female characters, and his beetling down every wrong track he can find until he triumphantly identifies the killer.

Colin Dexter’s novel is held together by a mysterious poem that is sent anonymously to the Times, presumably by the killer of a backpacking Swedish student. Morse’s devious mind unravels the clues in the poem one by one – with the help of erudite and eccentric Times letter-writers.

The title comes from Rudyard Kipling’s poem, The Way through the Woods.

Weather and rain have undone it again,And now you would never knowThere was once a road through the woodsBefore they planted the trees.

I just wish there had been more books in the Inspector Morse series. They are as good as detective murder mysteries get....more

Service of All the Dead is the fourth of the 13 murder mysteries in the Chief Inspector Morse series. It is a variant on the country house murder, excService of All the Dead is the fourth of the 13 murder mysteries in the Chief Inspector Morse series. It is a variant on the country house murder, except here the victim dies during a church service rather than over dinner.

The interest in this Colin Dexter book is that we see clearly how Morse’s mind works. He several times attends church services (and muses over a pint or two) just to present his mind with the triggers that will connect the pieces of the puzzle. It was fascinating to see a writer describe how creative intelligence works, whether you are a novelist or a detective.

The story assumes a good knowledge of churches and church services. I had to look up many of the words associated with High Anglicanism: piscina, curate, boat-boy, nave, chasuble. A picture of the layout of a church would have been handy, like one of those often provided with country house mysteries. Exactly where is a vestry in regards to the altar?...more

Holy Disorders has almost overtaken The Moving Toyshop as my favourite Edmund Crispin story. It has, of course, Crispin’s brilliant wit that can leaveHoly Disorders has almost overtaken The Moving Toyshop as my favourite Edmund Crispin story. It has, of course, Crispin’s brilliant wit that can leave me gasping with laughter and a hapless young composer at the centre of the mayhem. But it is the setting makes this Golden Age murder mystery special.

Edmund Crispin (in real life Bruce Montgomery) was an organist at St. John's College, Oxford and a composer in his own right. His description of the organ in his fictional south coast cathedral town, and the cathedral staff, is breathtaking. Only somebody who was intimately familiar with that environment could have written this book.

In addition to the cathedral architecture and the associated clergy, we learn a good deal about the gruesome history of the town, and a get a close look at the sedate housewives who play at Satanism between shopping trips. Nobody but Edmund Crispin could pack so much comedy into a novel – and wrap it around a multi-threaded murder mystery. ...more

Death in Holy Orders touches upon some classic P D James themes: the North Sea coast; that peculiarly secular organisation known as the Church of EnglDeath in Holy Orders touches upon some classic P D James themes: the North Sea coast; that peculiarly secular organisation known as the Church of England; the dour Scotland Yard senior detective, Adam Dalgliesh; and that even odder mixture of sublimated sexuality and restrained erudition that comprises (or comprised) the English middle-class.

Maybe living for a while on the bleak stretch of the Suffolk coast where Death in Holy Orders takes place made the book more real to me. I have never been so cold in my life and I became completely convinced that the climate affected all who lived there eventually, no matter how warm their innate personality.

If you like your murder mysteries subtle, not pie-in-your-face, this is one of the best....more

An Unsuitable Job for a Woman is the earlier of two P D James murder mysteries involving, Cordelia Gray, sole proprietor of Pryde’s Detective Agency.An Unsuitable Job for a Woman is the earlier of two P D James murder mysteries involving, Cordelia Gray, sole proprietor of Pryde’s Detective Agency. If that sounds like the start of a Girl Detective story, more Enid Blyton than P D James, that is exactly the problem.

The underlying story is interesting, unravelling the suicide of a recent university dropout by interviewing the people in his life. The difficulty is that the story is told through the eyes of a woman in her early twenties who wavers back and forth between independent adult and insecure child. She ends up sobbing in the office of a fatherly Commander Dalgliesh.

Oh dear, not even P D James' exquisite command of the English language can save this one....more

I confess, the title of The Dead of Jericho is what lures me back to this favourite Colin Dexter novel. Of course, it is a murder mystery, but the MorI confess, the title of The Dead of Jericho is what lures me back to this favourite Colin Dexter novel. Of course, it is a murder mystery, but the Morse books are never primarily about the plot.

Jericho, in the book, is an older Oxford neighbourhood of row houses slightly off the main thoroughfare and now home to a mix of elderly, working poor, and artsy young. To respectable people like Chief Inspector Morse, Jericho is apparently a place where they can be anonymous; not exactly slumming, but certainly private.

It is from this fertile soil that the story grows. The quotation below the prologue sums it up.

And I wonder how they should have been together. – T S Eliot, La Figlia che Piange

And Then There Were None is a simple Agatha Christie story simply told and wonderfully entertaining. It is one of the original murder mysteries set onAnd Then There Were None is a simple Agatha Christie story simply told and wonderfully entertaining. It is one of the original murder mysteries set on an isolated island and resolved without the aid of a clever sleuth, amateur or otherwise.

It is popular to disdain Christie’s stories as formulaic potboilers, fit only for those with a reading age of nine. My take is that if you can outline your characters and define the plot without loading up every noun with three polysyllabic adjectives, you are a better writer than most of those currently on a “Goodreads popular list”.

This story was called Ten Little Niggers when I first read it, then Ten Little Indians before it settled into its current bland title.

I love the way Agatha Christie makes her own rules about what is permissible in a murder mystery. In Hallowe’en Party she murders one of the childrenI love the way Agatha Christie makes her own rules about what is permissible in a murder mystery. In Hallowe’en Party she murders one of the children at the party, something every sane parent has wanted to do at some time. After that, the story grows increasingly bizarre; call it gothic, if you want to be kind, but the ending is plain silly.

Poirot: ... said to me, laughing – “Get thee behind me, Satan. Go and join your police friends.” And I knew then, quite certainly. It was the other way round. I said to myself: “I am leaving you behind me, Satan.”

Whose Body? was Dorothy Sayer’s first novel and the only one I don’t much care for. I can easily see why somebody reading her books chronologically woWhose Body? was Dorothy Sayer’s first novel and the only one I don’t much care for. I can easily see why somebody reading her books chronologically would give up here. A much better place to start on the Peter Wimsey series is Strong Poison.

Having said that, the story, if a little far-fetched, is clever and original, all the characters are interesting and well drawn, but the language is dreadful.

”By Jove!” he announced, beaming, “sportin’ old bird! It’s old Mrs. Thripps. Deaf as a post. Never used the ‘phone before. But determined. Perfect Napoleon.

Edward Bulwer-Lytton called The Woman in White "great trash", and Henry James compared it unkindly to Samuel Richardson’sClarissa. Perhaps, like myseEdward Bulwer-Lytton called The Woman in White "great trash", and Henry James compared it unkindly to Samuel Richardson’sClarissa. Perhaps, like myself until recently, they had only read the sugared meringue that forms the first few chapters.

I have lost count of the times I started this Wilkie Collins opus, assured by (almost) everybody what a great mystery story it was, only to fall at the first gate with our insipid young heroine swooning over her manly man tutor while the middle-aged villain waits in the wings to ensnare her. All this is necessary to the plot, but still goes on far too long for my taste.

If you can wade through the predictable Victorian romance of the first few chapters, there is a remarkable crime story following. The entire plot is complicated, tense and does not rely on unreasonable coincidences, ghosts or a deus ex machina for resolution. It really is a very good story.

Presumably, the message that Wilkie Collins wanted to deliver was that bad laws beget crime, and the property laws of the day, of which primogeniture and marriage are fundamental components, were (and are) evil.

Count Fosco: I was married in England, and I ask if a woman's marriage obligations in this country provide for her private opinion of her husband's principles? No! They charge her unreservedly to love, honour, and obey him. That is exactly what my wife has done. I stand here on a supreme moral elevation, and I loftily assert her accurate performance of her conjugal duties. Silence, Calumny! Your sympathy, Wives of England, for Madame Fosco!-- The Woman in White, Wilkie Collins (1859)

The last DI John Rebus novel has all the characteristics that made the series successful: a complex plot that comes together, a diverse mix of personaThe last DI John Rebus novel has all the characteristics that made the series successful: a complex plot that comes together, a diverse mix of personalities, and first-rate writing. If anything, I should say that Ian Rankin put in a little extra effort to polish the apple for Exit Music.

Rebus poured another Highland Park and raised his glass in a toast.

“Here’s to the hard men,” he said, knocking the drink back in one.

If leaving Rebus behind lets Rankin set his stories in other parts of Scotland (Aberdeen, please) it is all to the good, although I will miss the old sinner. ...more